The 134th Games
by AuthorWhoMustNotBeNamed
Summary: Katniss and Peeta have died during the 74th Hunger Games. It's years later, and Silver has to compete. Will she survive or fall like so many before her?


**Hey, everybody. This is my first fanfic, so I'm open to all criticism.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own The Hunger Games or any book in that series. Credit goes to Suzanne Collins.**

I'm in the woods, almost completely concealed by the bush I'm hiding in. It's next to an extremely tall tree which gives me coverage from above. The only thing that gives away my position is my hair. It's pure silver and it goes down to the small of my back. I hear footsteps coming from behind me, the sound of cracking twigs and crushing leaves gets louder and louder like the sound of my heart.

I hold my knife tighter in my dirty hand, getting ready to attack. The footsteps stop right behind of my bush. Suddenly, everything is silent and holy crap! Something grabs my legs! I'm dragged out of the bush toward a clearing behind me. I begin to scream and claw at the ground, but it's futile. A large and muscular boy who is holding my legs lets go once we are in the clearing. The boy kicks me onto my back and I start squirming and flailing around with my knife in a desperate attempt to injure him. He sits on me, pinning my shoulders down with his knees. He's too heavy to try and unseat him. He pries the knife out of my hands without using much effort and raises it above his head, ready to strike down on me. The sound of my heartbeat is pounding in my ears. He brings the knife down, aiming at my face. Closer, closer the knife descends in what feels like slow motion. The knife is now an inch from my face when—

"Get up, Silver! You don't want to be late for the Reaping, do you?" says my father, shaking my shoulder. I groan and cover my head with my blanket.

"To be honest, I'd rather die than go to the Reaping," I say from under the blanket.

"Wouldn't we all? Now get dressed. We're leaving soon. Make sure you wear something nice," says my father. He leaves the room and closes the door.

I reluctantly remove the blanket from my head and sit up. That dream seemed so real, I could have sworn that I was going to die. It sort of reminded me of one of the Games years ago, before I was born. They would show old Games on TV all the time. The one I'm thinking about is the one that had that Everdeen girl. The one that was on fire. What was her name, again? Catpiss? Something like that. I'll have to ask Old Man Hawthorne about it. Anyway, my dream was like when that girl tried to carve up her face with a knife.

I decide to wear a lavender skirt that used to be my mother's and an old white blouse. God, I hate dressing up. Wearing clothes that are actually feminine just doesn't feel like..._me_. In order to feel a little bit comfortable, I put on my brown leather jacket over the blouse. It is old and worn, passed down from my older brother. The jacket has coal stains on it and the seams are frayed, but I love it just the same. It just feels like_ me_.

I go downstairs to the kitchen and see my dad cooking something horrifying over the stove. He turns around and looks at me through his thick glasses.

"You look rather nice. That old jacket is a tad unladylike, don't you think?" he says.

"That's the point, Dad. I'm going to head over to Old Man Hawthorne's house for a little while, okay?" I say.

"Alright. Just be at the square in time for the Reaping"

"I will," I say, and I head out the door.

Old Man Hawthorne is only a few blocks away. I walk past all of the run-down houses of the Seam, past the sullen faces of adults whose children could be chosen. When I arrive at his house, he opens his his door before I even raise my arm to knock. His first name is Gale, but most people call him Old Man Hawthorne when he isn't around. He looks like a typical old person: gray hair, wrinkly skin. What makes him different are his eyes. They're gray like most people that live in the Seam, but there is a hint of something else; something that says that he had seen things he shouldn't have seen. Most people stay away from him; they say he's a crazy old coot. He fascinates me, though.

"I figured you'd drop by," he says and gestures for me to come in. I step inside and the door closes behind us.


End file.
